


Love and Glory

by asphyxeno



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Comedy, Finger Sucking, First Time, Glory Hole, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22556545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphyxeno/pseuds/asphyxeno
Summary: It wasn't themostdubious hole Geralt had ever put his dick in, but it certainly ranked high on the list. Whoever had installed the hole had the generous foresight to sand down the edges, but in the end, it was still a hole in a slab of thin wood.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 27
Kudos: 476





	1. Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Love and glory  
>  That's the story  
> In my world there ain't no black or white_
> 
> \- Billy Idol

It wasn't the _most_ dubious hole Geralt had ever put his dick in, but it certainly ranked high on the list. Whoever had installed the hole had the generous foresight to sand down the edges, but in the end, it was still a hole in a slab of thin wood.

In The Rosebud brothel, a place renown for its more _sophisticated_ and open attitudes towards sex, Geralt found himself in a small room - more of a stall, really - with barely anything in it apart from a simple table and a stool, a light, and of course, a hole in the wall. But he hadn't paid for a luxurious room. He'd paid for the hole, and he was just starting to question that choice when he felt fingers against exposed skin on the other side of the wall.

"Not hard yet, sir?" The velvety, deep voice tempted him from the other side of the wall. "Let's see if I can change that."

The light touches quelled the growing regret Geralt had been feeling about what, to anyone with sense, must have seemed like a stupid idea. But, as far as sex went, he'd made poorer choices in his life. Calloused fingertip ran down the length of his cock, a tentative stroke, as if his unknown partner was testing the waters. Then he felt the light brush of stubble and there was no further doubt that the person on the other side was a man, just as the brothel's madame had said. Not that he minded.

"You must have manners, sir," said the man on the other side of the wall. "Did you bathe before coming here?"

Geralt was hesitant to answer. He wasn't sure if it was expected, and in all honesty, he hadn't been expecting conversation alongside the blowjob he'd payed for. However, he supposed he shouldn't have expected anything else from a town full of scholars like Oxenfurt. In any case, he didn't mind. The hot breath and stubble rubbing against his sensitive skin with every word the man spoke was too pleasant to disregard.

"Yes," the witcher eventually answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Usually, even though they've been on the road for weeks without washing, men suppose they're just going to have a dirty whore's mouth on it anyway, so they don't bother with bathing beforehand. Not that they're wrong, of course, at least in my case, and I don't mind - in some ways it has its own appeal - but you, sir... You have a lovely cock." Geralt felt lips purse against the head of his cock in what could only be described as a kiss, as if to prove the man's point. "A heady, musky scent, with a slight taste of sweat, but it's undoubtedly clean..."

"You sound like a wine taster."

"Well, I _am_ something of a connoisseur."

"Of wine or of cocks?"

"Of all life's pleasures!" As the man spoke, he littered appreciative kisses on the cock he was stroking, urging him to fill out. It didn't hinder his attempts to keep speaking, though. If anything, it only urged him forward. "Many sexual acts can be simulated artificially, through masturbation..." A sharp twist of the hand near the base of his dick accompanied the word and had Geralt exhale sharply through his nose. "Or through the use of, mm, carved sculptures," A tongue pressed against his balls, only causing the briefest of interruptions. "But nothing can match the experience of oral sex, be it fellatio or cunnilingus. The taste, the warmth, the scent..." Geralt felt what could only be described as the other man nuzzling his cock. "...The real thing can not be duplicated by anything."

As pleasant as the man's voice was, the teasing had worn the witcher's patience thin. "Do you mean only to philosophize over my dick or did you plan to suck it as well?" he asked, rubbing his dick against the crook of the man's nose where it rested, seeking to gain friction from his stubble. It only served to frustrate him further.

The man chuckled, and Geralt found the sound of it to be infinitely charming. "Indeed, I can't do both at once, but my philosophizing seems to have done the job well enough," he said, and gripped the fully erect cock in his hand, giving it another teasing kiss. Geralt could practically hear the smugness in the man's voice as he added, "Tell me, sir, do you like my voice? You wouldn't be the first."

"I suspect I'd like it even more hearing you moan around my cock." Geralt tried to match that smugness he'd heard in the other man's tone, but ultimately failed when a hot, wet warmth enveloped him mid-sentence. It seemed that eloquent tongue could do more than confabulate.

Geralt jerked his hips forward as his hands scrambled vainly against the wall to find purchase. He should suggest to the brothel's madame that she install a railing, if only for something to hold onto when one's soul is being sucked out though his dick. Given that the wall in front of him also offered little in the way of visual stimulation outside of the wood grain, Geralt closed his eyes and chose to focus on his other, inhumanly sharp senses.

Geralt felt how easily he pressed into the other man's mouth, the hard suction feeling more intense than the delicate strokes with which those dexterous fingers had been teasing. That same hand wrapped around the base of his cock, holding him firmly in place while another hand toyed with his balls. Mild callouses on his fingertips, but not his palms. He clearly wasn't a farmer. Matched with a lovely voice and soft, inoffensive stubble that brushed against the head of his dick each time the man pulled back to spit more saliva onto it, such imagery brought thoughts of only one man to the witcher's mind.

It wouldn't have been the first time Geralt had fantasized about Jaskier, and it wouldn't be the last. It had been a while since they'd seen one another, almost a year? Maybe more? It was difficult to keep track of time for a witcher. Certainly, it had been longer than he would have liked, and especially during sex, Geralt found himself thinking of his dearest friend more and more often. This was no exception.

He thought of Jaskier's lips stretched around his cock, taking him eagerly and easily. The visual was accompanied by the lewd, wet sounds he heard coming from the other side of the wall. The bard's cheeks would hollow out as he sucked, though Geralt, right along time with the vacuum sensation and enticing pop as that hot mouth pulled away to kiss up along the sides almost affectionately. With Jaskier, it would surely be affection, as the poet, in everything he did, was laden with such gestures of romance. Then his cock was back in that molten bliss, and a silver tongue expertly worked to pull Geralt apart at the seams.

Geralt groaned wordlessly, his hips jerking forward again, though there wasn't much he could do from his position. He felt the tip of his cock bump the back of a throat and he heard the pleasurable _sound_ the other man made... Geralt only imagined what sound Jaskier might make, what his expression would be, tears in his eyes as he choked, only to enthusiastically come back for more, again and again. He thought of how beautiful the troubadour would look, his pretty mouth full, red blotches marring his complexion. Would Jaskier look up while blowing him, or would he close his eyes and lose himself in the act? Geralt wasn't sure which he'd prefer more, and he longed to know the answer.

Geralt thumped his palm on the wall, the only way he could warn the man on the other side that he'd cum soon. With the warning given, that enticing mouth pulled away, for a second suspending Geralt in his fantasy. He thought of splattering the minstrel's gorgeous features with his cum, of how Jaskier would stick out his tongue and catch some in his mouth just to make a show of it, as he did with everything else. Geralt thought of kissing him like that, tasting himself on his tongue, showing the poet just how deeply he felt for him, and how much he'd wanted this, for so long.

And then the man's lips were back on him, and he didn't stop until he'd taken everything down his throat.

It was all too much for Geralt, and the name was ripped out of him with the force of his climax. He all but shouted it. "Jaskier!"

The man on the other side of the wall spluttered around his cock, his throat muscles convulsing in reaction and only intensifying Geralt's orgasm. Still, the man held himself down, desperately swallowing and milking the witcher for all he was worth.

Geralt could only think of a hand on the back of Jaskier's head, holding him as he came down his throat, his hips twitching up and drawing out those lovely moans he desperately longed to hear. Again, Geralt groaned Jaskier's name, and this time the other man did pull away, coughing aggressively after the onslaught against his throat.

It took Geralt a moment to gather himself enough to ask, slurred, "Are you okay?" It took another moment more for Geralt to have enough sense to pull his softening dick out of the hole in the wall, and he was glad he did as the man on the other side of the wall sounded none too pleased, or perhaps he was simply hoarse from sucking cock.

"How did you know that?" the man demanded, and his voice wavered with emotion even as it gained strength and volume.

Geralt's brain was still catching up to the conversation, and so intelligently, he said, "What?"

"'What?'" parroted the man, "Don't give me that, you know very well what I mean. Did the madame tell you? Or perhaps you're a fan?"

Geralt caught up enough to form a full sentence. "I really don't know what you're-" Unfortunately he was cut off before he could finish it

"My name!" The man barreled over Geralt's words. "You just said it! At first, I thought maybe I'd misheard, caught up in the moment, but then you said it again! And right when you came, no less, although I can't fault you for that, I suppose..."

This revelation didn't quite sink in as quickly as one might hope. If what the man was saying were true, then it would be that what Geralt had been fantasizing about hadn't been fantasy at all, and the witcher had difficulty processing this. The simple concept that Jaskier really had just blown him to dazzling completion was more than he could manage so immediately after orgasm. So when Geralt finally did process it, only then did he realize the man was expecting him to answer.

"Well? Out with it," the stranger Geralt actually knew very well insisted. "How did you guess? Or perhaps there is gossip about this circulating already; the famous Jaskier's a cocksucker!"

And, once again with all of his faculties and wit, Geralt found he couldn't help himself. "You _are_ a cocksucker, Jaskier."

There was a brief silence after that. Then, suspicious accusation abandoned in favor of cautious curiosity, the man on the other side of the wall asked quite simply, "Is that you, Geralt?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good thing they're both too dumb to guess each other's voices. more on that in chapter 2. decided to break this into two chunks to make it more palatable
> 
> i have a good chunk of the exposition for chapter 2 written, explaining things as Geralt and Jaskier talk about what exactly just happened, and how Jaskier found himself to be on the other side of that wall.
> 
> narrator voice: stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion


	2. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Love and glory  
>  That's the story  
> Of you and me, of all our lives_
> 
> \- Billy Idol

Geralt thought of how he'd ended up in this situation.

Not an hour before, he'd arrived at The Rosebud, and been intrigued by a special they'd been peddling at a reduced rate. A board painted with their usual services and rates had a recent slip of parchment plastered to it, boasting about a "Glory Hole" and listing a ridiculously low rate for it.

"Not literate?" the madame had asked as she'd greeted him. "I can read the prices to you if you need, sir. Or perhaps you're short of coin?"

"I've plenty of coin and I can read."

At the suggestion of a paying customer, the withered madame had brightened. "Why, you must be that witcher the dean at the school hired not two months past. Back for another contract?"

"That a problem?" Brothels often worried he might be a thug, and mistreat their women.

"Not at all, sir. I've heard about you from a regular. Said you're always kind to the girls in our profession. You're welcome here, sir, provided you've the coin as you've said. How can I help you?"

Geralt supposed that should have been his first clue as to who might possibly be responsible for the advertised special. A regular that knew him? In Oxenfurt? But Jaskier's visits to the town were frequent enough that he could have mentioned the witcher on any occasion, and Geralt hadn't given it a further thought.

Instead, he'd said, "Just wondering what a glory hole is."

"A good question, sir, and a common one at that. Not too many are familiar yet, as it's a brand new service." It was a madame's job to inform while simultaneously ensuring her customers didn't feel stupid. She had explained sweetly, and Geralt had only felt a little patronized. "A 'glory hole' is just what it says, dear. It's a hole that will leave you feeling glorious after."

"Don't all the holes here do that?"

The madame had laughed heartily, the effect Geralt had wanted. "Too right you are," she said. "But how about you try something new? It's very popular, and it's discounted. Hardly any wait this time of day."

Geralt's curiosity had gotten the better of him. With a shrug, he'd dug out the coin. It really had been a good price, if it ended up being as glorious as she claimed. Which, if he were to rank it in a survey afterward, it had been indeed.

The madame had snatched the payment from him before he could change his mind. Then she'd led him down a corridor towards the room he'd paid for. The one with the hole she'd managed to sell. "Now, mind you," she'd said hastily, like a medic rattling off side effects. "You won't be seeing anyone from your side of the wall, and it could be anyone on the other side, so's you can picture anyone you like. A woman. A man..."

"A man?" Geralt hadn't been put off by the suggestion, but he _had_ been surprised. Most of the Continent wasn't open to such suggestions. Then his brain had caught up to the rest of her spiel. "Wait- Wall?"

The madame had stopped, holding open a door. "Here at The Rosebud, we don't discriminate on either end. And we don't do refunds either." Then she had pushed the witcher towards the room without an ounce of remorse. "You'll get your money's worth if you try it, sir, don't you worry about that."

Then, he'd been left alone in a room, with nothing more than a dubious hole in the wall and a voice tempting him from the other side. A voice which, as it turned out, had belonged to his dearest friend, a friend for which he just so happened to have somewhat more than friendly feelings. And that very same friend had given him a room number and told him to wait, implored him not to leave, so they could discuss what had happened. Namely, the witcher shouting said friend's name as he came in his mouth.

This was looking to be a _fun_ conversation. But he cared too much for Jaskier to run away. So he went to the room he'd been directed to as told, and waited.

Seeing as he had nothing better to do, Geralt took in the room's lush interior. He sat at the edge of the four-poster bed, the curtains of the canopy tied open for easy access. The bed was made, its blanket neatly tucked and its pillows arranged invitingly. There were two chairs by a table with a pitcher of water and a few drinking glasses resting on top. One seemed to have been used already, the dregs of alcohol sitting at its base. Beside table sat a writing desk full of fresh parchment, and in the corner was a plush armchair in which Jaskier's lute rested in its case. The bard's other possessions were piled up with it, save for a few beauty products resting on the vanity - the final piece of furniture in the room. A tube of letters hung from the lute's neck, no doubt containing the poet's latest writings. If he had to wait any longer, Geralt might have taken it upon himself to read them. However, he never got the opportunity when, at long last, the door creaked open.

Jaskier strode into the room with confidence, trying his best to look as though he had not spent the day sucking cock. "I asked Dahlia to cover for me," he said, still adjusting his collar. He'd had to dress quickly, and the way he tried to remedy his state of disarray was evidence of that. He tugged at his shirtsleeves, looking for all the world like a preening peacock. "Have you ever noticed how whores tend to choose flowers for their pseudonyms?"

Geralt smirked. He couldn't help it. "Not at all, _Jaskier_."

Jaskier sighed, "Oh, shut up." He gave up on trying to straighten his clothes, leaving his collar open, exposing soft tufts of chest hair. "You know, you're the one who paid for the service."

"And how long has this 'service' been going on?"

"What does it matter to you, witcher?"

"I don't want you to get sick."

"Oh." Jaskier's eyes softened, his previous suspicions momentarily quelled by the concern. "Well, you needn't worry. I'll let you in on a trade secret I picked up back when I was still a student." Jaskier moved over to the corner where his few worldly belongings lay. After a moment of rifling through his personal effects, he drew out a glass vial and tossed it to the Geralt. "Here."

Geralt popped the cork off the vial and sniffed it. Compared to many of his own brews, it was surprisingly pleasant. "Alchemy?"

"Didn't you find it odd that The Rosebud isn't riddled with disease?" The troubadour came to lean on the bed's canopied frame. "That elixir renders one immune to contagion, if only for a short while. Just gulp it down and you're good to go for the next few hours. I've learned to keep a vial of it on me at all times. Kept me alive many a time, let me tell you. Not all of them related to sex."

"Illness still plagues whorehouses, Jaskier," chided Geralt. "Even if it works, there must be a reason this isn't more widespread, or else everyone would take it." He corked the bottle and shook it, as if it might tell him the answer. "All potions have their side effects."

Jaskier nodded his agreement. "And this one is no exception. Taken frequently, this particular concoction destroys one's... Potency."

Geralt was astonished. "Jaskier, how could-"

The troubadour held up his hand, dismissive. "Don't chastise me, witcher. In my case, it works in my favor and is hardly a price to pay. I've no interest in fatherhood or family life, and I can't have little bastard children scattered all around the Continent, sullying my legacy." He snatched the vial back from Geralt to put away into his things. "One man's side effects are another man's intended results."

In truth, Geralt had always wondered about that. With the way Jaskier had fucked his way across the Northern Realms and back, the witcher couldn't help but sometimes fear for those he left behind - or who left _him_ behind. He suddenly understood why Jaskier rarely took ill. "It certainly explains things..." said Geralt "Still, a stupid decision."

"And one I don't expect to ever reverse. Unlike some others." Naturally, he spoke of Yennefer. The troubadour came to sit beside Geralt on the end of the bed, turning his body slightly so they could face one another in conversation. "Which brings me to the topic I most wished to discuss: Why, out of everyone you know, did you say _my_ name?"

Geralt was silent, though his gaze drifted down to Jaskier's mouth. Why, indeed? He hadn't been able to help imagining that mouth wrapped around him, doing all those pleasurable things and causing such wonderful stimulation. It was always Jaskier who came to mind on the rare occasion he slept with men, and 'why' was a question he often asked himself. Every time he did, though, he always drew the same conclusion: there was no other man he wanted.

When Geralt tuned back in to Jaskier's ramblings, he noticed he hadn't been listening to a word the poet had been saying.

"Geralt, are you listening to me?"

"Yes," lied Geralt.

"Then answer my question. How in the world did you guess? Was it my voice?"

"No." Although, in hindsight, he should have suspected that no one but the troubadour would talk so much before stuffing his mouth full of cock. Geralt pulled himself back from drifting into that line of thought again. "I didn't guess it was you," he added, for clarity.

Jaskier brought a contemplative hand to his chin. "I thought you'd be familiar enough with it by now... I know we've been apart a while, I certainly didn't recognize you at first, for you rarely spoke, but with the amount I talk, surely you didn't forget me so easily."

"No," said Geralt. He didn't think he'd ever forget Jaskier's voice, with how often he liked to exercise its use. "But I've never heard you sound so subservient. Certainly, you've never called me sir."

"A fair point." The troubadour paused, still in thought. "Did you like that, by the way? Because I've been wondering if I should change my routine for repeat customers and-"

"Jaskier."

"Right, right, off topic. So then, someone told you?"

"No."

"Then why would you say _my_ name mid-orgasm?"

Once again, Geralt remained silent, merely shifting his gaze back to focus on Jaskier's mouth.

Miraculously, Jaskier put two and two together. "Oh, you... Oh," he said smartly. "Not that I fault you for it, but... Me? Not Yennefer?"

"Like you, I have room in my heart for more than one."

"I see. Yet you chose me this time, because...?"

"Yen can't grow a beard." It was a simple answer, but it was true. "It's true that with women, I do think of her, but with men... It's only ever you."

"If I was anyone else, I might be offended," said Jaskier, feeling pity for the multitudes of past sex workers Geralt must have slept with.

Curiosity got the better of Geralt. "You didn't think of someone? Maybe me? Even with a wall there?"

"In a way, I _was_ thinking wholly about you, since you were, after all, the one in front of me. But really, after a while, they all blend together. One person enters my life, another leaves, it becomes tiresome." Jaskier smiled in a way that Geralt knew was wholly false. "Whoever I'm with is always lovely enough without extra effort on my part, so I don't imagine others. It's only my damnably irrepressible romantic nature that decides who I usually bed, much to my own chagrin. That's why, in this glory hole situation, any old cock will do. It's the act itself, you see, not the person, that draws my attention. Just me and what I'm doing, and I always give everything when I perform. I'll have you know, fellatio takes my full concentration."

"So... It was just an act for you?" Geralt couldn't shake the disappointment he suddenly felt. Sure, he hadn't known it was Jaskier, and Jaskier hadn't known it was him, but the idea that his feelings weren't reciprocated, even a little... "And how much did you earn from your latest performance?"

"Geralt, I don't mean to spite your feelings, if that's what you-"

" _How much_?"

Jaskier sighed impatiently, "Nothing."

"'Nothing'?" The answer surprised the witcher. "Truly?"

"Truly."

"But what do you get out of it?"

"Same as you. Sex. With no strings attached. Until now, that is."

Geralt stared blankly. They must have had different interpretations of sex.

"You seem to have misunderstood me," Jaskier explained calmly, "I'm not a prostitute, Geralt, I don't accept payment. Oxenfurt is _my_ town, after all, and I could find a place anywhere here without having to whore myself out. Just as you came here seeking pleasure, so too did I. How I derive it simply differs, and the anonymity that this opportunity presents lets me pursue such pleasures freely, without ruining my good reputation." Jaskier looked wistfully away. "And without risk of emotional attachment, or the sorrow that comes with its parting. People can often be very cruel and sometimes I don't wish to deal with that."

Geralt had never considered oral that way before, as something so desirable. Any time a partner had ever gone down on him, he'd been of the opinion they were doing him a favor, and when he'd given it, he hadn't personally given much thought about it beyond his partner's pleasure. It hadn't occurred to him that for some, like Jaskier, it could have its own appeal, for a seemingly multitude of reasons. "I did pay, though," he said eventually. "Not a lot, but coin is coin."

"Yes you did, but your coin doesn't line _my_ pockets. It goes to the brothel. You see, I've known the madame here for quite some time. So, when a patron punched a hole through her wall, it was at my suggestion that she save herself the time and money on renovation and instead convert it into something practical. She was skeptical at first, and so to warm her up to the idea, I valiantly volunteered myself as a way to kick start business. It's only because I am a dear, old friend that she insisted I take this room, and when a madame offers you a room at her brothel, you don't say, 'No'." Jaskier gestured to the glowing ambiance of candlelight filling the space around them.

"And you enjoy it, what you're doing?" the witcher asked with renewed interest, his earlier feelings forgotten.

"Yes, of course I enjoy it. Would I do it for free if I didn't?" Jaskier sounded exasperated in his desperation to be understood. "Bluntly put, so that your narrow mind may understand, I _love_ sucking cock. You happy? Is _that_ clear enough for you?"

"Perfectly." Geralt leaned forward, intrigued. "So is my narrow mind then to further understand that you loved sucking _my_ cock? Enough to get off on it?"

"Well." For the first time, Jaskier's unending false confidence slipped, and a flattering blush brightened the poet's gorgeous features. He cleared his throat. "Actually, no. I _would_ have, had you not caught me off guard. Panic at being discovered is very sobering when you're not an exhibitionist."

"Hmm, my apologies, then," said Geralt without looking apologetic in the least.

"Easy for you to say." Jaskier folded his arms and turned away, obviously sulking. "I know _you_ got off."

Encouraged, Geralt placed a hand on Jaskier's thigh and without further preamble, presented his offer. "If you're amenable, Jaskier, I'd be very willing to try again."

"Witcher..." Jaskier's eyes widened at his words. All prior embarrassment easily eradicated, the bard's voice was as silky as the bedding beneath them. "Are you propositioning me?"

Geralt had always been one to let his actions speak for him rather than words. Before he could have any doubts, he swiftly closed the gap between them with a kiss.

Jaskier's mouth tasted even better than it had felt. That tongue which had worked him apart so easily, those lips, which had already kissed more intimate parts before this, it was all the more incredible here, in front of him. Steadying himself, Geralt kept one hand on Jaskier's shoulder and another on his thigh, a suggestion and nothing more, lest the poet wish to change his mind. Feeling hands on his chest and waist, holding tight to tough leather, he doubted that would be the case.

The kiss was short, but left them both breathless as Geralt drew away just enough to finally give his reply.

"Is _that_ clear enough for you?"

Hands gripping more firmly, Jaskier pulled the witcher back for bruising kiss. The tender softness of their first was abandoned in exchange for passion and desperation, the likes of which Geralt gladly returned. He opened his mouth the let the bard's eloquent tongue explore, hoping he'd have enough sense to be mindful of the witcher's sharp teeth. Jaskier was, and more than that, he prodded lightly at them, testing the points. Then he delved further, groaning as what they were doing seemed to truly set in. Eventually, he pulled away panting, a line of saliva connecting them both.

Geralt didn't have the patience for Jaskier to catch his breath and continued his kissing anywhere he could reach. He nipped and tugged at plush lips - again, he mourned that he hadn't gotten to see them before, pressed against the base of his cock. He kissed the poet's cheekbones, his chin, his nose, drawing out breathy laughs the witcher wanted to hear again and again. He kissed along his jaw, down to his ear, where he licked at soft skin taut over tense tendons.

"You don't know how many times I've wanted this, Jaskier..." said Geralt, disbelief lacing his voice. He continued kissing down the bard's neck as much as his collar would allow. "How _long_ I've wanted this... Why did I wait, can you tell me?"

"You're asking me?" Jaskier laughed again, and the sound filled the witcher's chest like he'd been deprived of it his whole life. Like he'd always needed it and only now, could he properly breathe. "If only I'd have known sooner, I would have gladly had you back in Dol Blathanna."

"I didn't know you had such an interest until now."

"Oh, Geralt, you should know me better than that." Jaskier's hands found their into the witcher's hair, and he tugged the thin leather strip that held it back. It fell down around his shoulders, tickling the bards chest where Geralt was happily sucking marks anywhere he could. "I believe love isn't limited by things as frivolous as social constructs," he continued, stroking long, white locks. "Status, species, gender, it's all the same to me. It always has been. And anyway, what about you? Since when do you like men?"

"I don't have preferences like that." In truth, it didn't take a lot to gain the witcher's affections. Yet still so few people qualified. Anyone who showed him kindness or trust, who wasn't afraid of him for what he was, and instead saw the person beneath the mutant... Only Jaskier had done that. Yen often tried to deny Geralt's mutations entirely, refused to even let him say the word 'mutant', but Jaskier... He had taken everything Geralt was, without hesitation or fear. No one else but Jaskier trusted him so completely, not even Yennefer. He loved her, too, it was true.

But Jaskier had held his heart first.

"I suppose I like anyone who doesn't fear me," finished Geralt, and there was surety in his statement as he looked up into the bard's eyes. "And you are the only one who isn't afraid."

Jaskier placed a tender kiss to Geralt's forehead, then his hair, delicately running his fingers through the soft strands. He felt a powerful urge to protect him from the things against which a witcher's physical prowess stood no chance. Geralt could face many things, often without help, but self hatred was not one Jaskier would allow him to face alone.

Geralt cupped the poet's cheek, his thumb rubbing appreciatively against a cheekbone. Jaskier pressed his face into the gentle touch.

The witcher's hands could kill just as readily as they could protect. They could take a life or keep it from harm. They were the hands of a murderer and of a savior. And those hands had always clung desperately to the things that, time and time again, destiny cruelly wrenched from their grasp.

Jaskier loved those hands.

He turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to the exposed flesh of Geralt's wrist. It was one of the few delicate places on the witcher's body, skin soft, but bearing light scars. Jaskier often asked about his scars, wanting to know the origin of each and every one, to familiarize himself with the years before he knew Geralt. This time, he didn't ask. He already knew the story.

He brought a hand up to hold Geralt's steady as he kissed his way up the palm. He turned it over and pressed more kisses to the back of it, one on each knuckle. When he came to the thumb, he kissed the tip of it. Then, looking up to meet the witcher's golden gaze, he drew it slowly into his mouth.

Geralt sucked in a breath as he watched, transfixed on the tantalizing sight before him. The things he'd wanted to see before, now being reenacted on his fingers... He couldn't tear his eyes away. His mouth watered, feeling taste buds press against the pad of his thumb. Experimentally, he pushed back and was rewarded with a groan from Jaskier.

Geralt tugged his thumb sideways, wanting to see Jaskier's lips stretch, and the bard panted through his open mouth, his jaw easily dropped wide, enticing and eager. Geralt shifted his hand, tugging out his thumb and presenting more, his index, middle a ring fingers. Jaskier greedily took them all in, sucking wetly, down to the knuckle, and it was the witcher's turn to groan. "You really do like using your mouth," said Geralt absently, though he noticed the powerful effect his words had on Jaskier when he shuddered, moaning around the fingers in his mouth. Geralt drew his fingers out ever so slightly, then pushed them back in, just enough to hear the poet choke. Then he pulled his fingers back, briefly worried he'd gone too far, only to have Jaskier follow and swallow them down again.

Geralt's heart swelled at the sight and he could stand it no longer. He pulled his fingers back and replaced them hastily with his mouth, sucking and biting at those devilishly tempting lips.

"You're wearing too much," murmured the witcher. To emphasize his meaning, he slid his hand up Jaskier's side, pushing at the colorful fabric and leaving a cooling trail of saliva at his hip.

Jaskier hummed, thoughtful, "And here I got dressed just for you."

"You weren't wearing anything before?"

"And risk staining my finery again? Of course not."

"'Again'?" Geralt paused. Oh, now there was a lovely thought. Cum splattered across that garish doublet, stark white against purple satin, quality fabrics ruined with the evidence of their activities. "Hmm, maybe you _should_ leave it on."

"You've a devious mind, witcher." Jaskier smiled, and to Geralt it felt like a veritable field of buttercups was in front of him, bright and wonderful. "But no, Elihal would have my head if I brought this to him stained so soon. Best to undress for now. Both of us." In an instant, the troubadour's dexterous hands were unbuckling Geralt's armor with ease.

"Most people have trouble with that," said Geralt, impressed.

"You insult me. I've laced and unlaced so many corsets that a trivial set of belts like this is just a _cinch_."

Geralt groaned at the horrid play on words and pushed Jaskier's doublet up and off his body, revealing a bare chest. He couldn't even wait to pull off his own clothing before latching his mouth on bare skin, marking wherever he could reach. The sight of fading love bites from the famous poet's past endeavors had invoked Geralt's possessive side. Of course, he didn't expect Jaskier to give up his polyamory - it would be hypocritical of him to ask - but, even if only for a night, the witcher wanted to have the bard wholly to himself.

Laughter thrummed along Jaskier's vocal chords. "At least take your jerkin off first. If I'm to feel anyone's hardened skin, I'd rather it be yours and not that of your leathers," he said, amused at Geralt's clear envy. And they said witchers didn't have feelings.

"Jaskier..." said Geralt when he pulled away. "How long do we have this room?"

"As long as we need. All night if we like."

"I hope you mean that. This could be a while." Finally, Geralt made to rid himself of the offending leather clothing. While he was at it, he removed everything else as well.

Jaskier's eyes shone at the witcher's nudity. It was far from the first time he'd seen Geralt naked - in fact, he'd seen him hard or even caught in the act of sex more than once - but it was an entirely different experience when he was being encouraged to look beyond longing, furtive glances. The troubadour grinned. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"I'd like to see for myself what it is you enjoy so much." Geralt's mouth was already back on him, licking at the dip in Jaskier's collarbone.

The bard sighed against the witcher's ministrations. "Then by all means, don't let me stop you."

Geralt moved lower, earning a mouthful of chest hair with each eager kiss. Dark brown strands led an easy trail downwards, but he took the leisurely route and followed all the detours it entailed. He stopped to catch a nipple between his teeth, testing Jaskier's sensitivity. He heard a shaky breath, and Geralt found himself wanting more. More than just an easy exhalation, he wanted to hear the bard breathless, panting, _gasping_ , and Geralt wanted to be the one to put him in such a state. With new resolve, he continued the trail further south.

Geralt tucked a hand under Jaskier's waistband, tugging the breeches, but leaving the tricot tights alone underneath the pleated satin.

Jaskier lifted his hips to aid in undressing. "And the hose?" he asked, referring to the leggings.

"Leave them on." Geralt tugged off only the breeches and tossed them carelessly to the floor. "I like how they hug your thighs... And everything else." The witcher littered the inside of Jaskier's thighs with kisses, groping shapely legs as he swung one up over his shoulder for a better position.

"Ah, well. I suppose I've an extra pair."

"Hmm," Geralt hummed and mouthed the front of the tight, knitted fabric, earning in a rather lovely noise from the bard. He was pleased to find Jaskier's dick was already filling out nicely. He pressed the flat of his tongue against the sizable bulge in front of him, dampening woven cloth with his spit. So much for avoiding stains... Though he had a feeling Jaskier wouldn't mind too much.

One hand on Jaskier's thigh, keeping him open and accessible, Geralt snaked the other up to find the poet's hand where it was clawing at the bedding. He held it tightly, relishing the bard's desperate grasp on him as he wove their fingers together. Jaskier's free hand found its way into Geralt's hair, petting loving strokes, rather than tugging or commanding in any direction. His hips jerked up, matching a wanton moan when the witcher sucked wetly at his cock.

"Fuck, Geralt," groaned Jaskier. "I thought you, oh, didn't do this sort of thing. I don't, ahh, see why. You're very good."

Geralt pulled away, leaving a large damp spot at the front of Jaskier's tights. "Not good enough if you're still talking." He gazed at the seam that attached the two leg pieces, the fabric split right down the center. It would be so easy to... "How much do you like these?"

"Not nearly as much as I liked what you were doing."

"Mind if I rip them?"

Jaskier's groaned wonderfully at the suggestion, though he acted dreadfully put upon in spite of it. "I suppose, if you must."

Geralt kissed Jaskier's inner thigh once more before shifting the bard's legs around. He'd need leverage and both hands for this. He hooked both of Jaskier's knees over his shoulders and gripped the woven material right at the seams, where it was weakest. Carefully, knowing it was a sensitive area, he ripped the fabric apart, exposing bare skin. He tore just enough for what he wanted, though he left Jaskier's dick fully covered. Geralt had other areas he wanted to put his mouth on.

"Um, Geralt you, ah, you seem to have missed the right-" Then he felt a tongue press against his ass, and the rest of the sentence vacated his mind in exchange for, "Ooh... Oh, sweet Melitele."

Geralt chuckled, pleased by the reaction. "Want me to stop?" he teased.

Jaskier's back arched up when Geralt licked him again, following it up with a loving kiss, not unlike the one Jaskier had given the witcher's cock what seemed like ages ago. "Nooo, no, absolutely not," he said, shifting his hips for a better angle. "Oh, gods, that feels good."

"It's about to feel better." Lightly, Geralt suckled at the meat of Jaskier's ass, determined to leave a mark, just as he'd done everywhere else.

Jaskier took it upon himself to get comfortable, using the bed's abundance of pillows to prop himself up, a perfect position to watch or to toss his head back and lose himself in the sensation at his leisure.

Geralt kept one hand on Jaskier's waist, to ease the strain on his back. With the other, he spread him open, just as before, granting himself easy access as he dove into the main course. Licking again, he pressed wet, open mouthed kisses against heated flesh. He was starting to see why Jaskier found oral so enjoyable; this was certainly fun. Then he delved deeper and pressed his tongue inside, and the moan it elicited from Jaskier was _divine_.

"Geralt, yes, oh," Jaskier hissed, pressing his head back into the pillows. He brought a hand to his mouth to bite his knuckles, too used to the forced quiet of hidden trysts with noblemen or their wives. Sometimes both.

"Jaskier, I can't believe I have to say this," Geralt said, rough stubble brushing sensitive skin. "But let me hear you."

It took him a moment, but at last, the bard obeyed. He drew his hand away, feeling ridiculous. "Right, of course," he said, laughing lightly. "What am I doing? We're in a brothel."

"Mhm," agreed Geralt. "And I want you moaning like a whore." He licked into Jaskier again, the obscene slurp that accompanied it filling the quiet of the room. With encouragement to be vocal, it didn't take much for Jaskier's voice to overrun it.

"Ugh, fuck, Geralt," breathed Jaskier, sounding as though all the air had been punched out of him. "That- Oh, your tongue is amazing. Are all witchers this talented or is it just y- Ohhh, oh, that's, oh, that's good. Oh, do that again."

Geralt took his time working him open, fully relishing each and every reaction he pulled from the poet. He felt his abs spasm and his back flex with each roll of the hips, eager to get Geralt deeper, faster, anything, as long as it was _more_. He'd removed his hand from Jaskier's ass - his face was properly wedged in now without further help - and instead he splayed it over his stomach, loving how the bard quivered with every shaky breath he took. He slid his palm down Jaskier's side towards his hip, briefly mirroring his other hand at his waist, holding the bard steady as he devoured every inch he could reach. Then further, he dipped his hand, and finally, mercifully, he ground his palm against Jaskier's cock.

"Fuck!" shouted Jaskier, his hips stuttering up into the friction.

Geralt smiled, pleased that he'd finally reduced the poet's vocabulary down to its most basic elements. He licked and sucked eagerly and moved his hand hastily, pushing Jaskier ever closer to the edge. He delighted in the way the bard was squirming up against him, simultaneously trying to get more and less stimulation, too overwhelmed to decide for himself what he wanted. So Geralt decided for him.

"Geralt, please, _please_ , don't stop. I'm so close, just a little, please." Jaskier was babbling now, more for the sound of it than anything else, but Geralt loved it all the same. Gladly, the witcher obliged and, with just a little more pressure, a little more friction, Jaskier came, howling out his name and making Geralt's ears ring with the sound of it. Cum blossomed at the front of his already ruined tights, salty white seeping through the loosely woven cloth. Geralt groaned at the heady scent of it and, were he not already preoccupied, he'd have loved to suck on the stained fabric.

Panting, Jaskier grasped desperately at the witcher's hand, his other still clawing at the bedspread. He felt dizzy from his orgasm, too tightly wound even after his release for such extra stimulation. "Geralt, please, i need..." he gasped, searching for the words to describe what he wanted. "A moment, please, I beg you."

Geralt thought Jaskier could stand to beg just a little more. So instead, he pushed impossibly deeper with his tongue, as far as he could, ripping a shout from the bard as he went.

"Oh, gods, Geralt, please," Jaskier begged, writhing against the witcher's excellent mouth. Frustrated and overwhelmed, he burst out his next sentence all in one breath. "Please, if you don't stop for a minute, I'm going to get rug burn from your beard."

At that, Geralt was forced to draw back, a chuckle bubbling up where he could not stop it. Jaskier always did have a way of doing that, drawing out the most pleasant feelings when so many others thought there were none to be had.

Leaning back just enough, he looked down as he towered over Jaskier, who by then was nearly bent in half. There was a soft sheen of sweat on the poet's brow plastering dark brown hair to his forehead. He was open mouthed and panting, trying to catch his breath. Geralt rubbed his cheek against the soft, torn fabric barely covering Jaskier's thigh. It had ripped even further during their activities.

"Now I see the appeal," said Geralt, kissing a sliver of exposed skin and pulling a shiver from Jaskier. "I could do this all day."

Jaskier groaned, leaning his head back into the pillows. "Could you-" Jaskier's voice spiked up an octave, his usual tenor hoarse. He swallowed dryly and tried again to speak. "Could you get-"

"Yes. I need it, too." Geralt lowered Jaskier delicately onto silky sheets. He leaned down for a brief kiss before he rose from the bed. Ignoring his own pressing needs, he quickly poured them each a glass of water before making his way back over.

Jaskier sat up and took a glass from him. "Thank you."

Geralt frowned. "You took the hose off."

"Well don't look so disappointed." The bard raised the glass to his lips. "I might get offended."

"It's just a shame." Geralt sat on the bed, running a hand up the bard's bare thigh. "I thought I might have you wear them while I fuck you."

Jaskier nearly choked as he drank. He coughed, covering his mouth, "Are you trying to kill me?" he managed to say.

"No," said Geralt, hiding a smile behind his own glass. "I thought I was clear. I'm trying to fuck you."

Jaskier set the cup aside. "And I'm not well and thoroughly fucked enough?"

"Never in your life have you been fucked enough, Jaskier."

Jaskier brightened, false offense dissipating easily. "Too true." He placed a hand on the witcher's hip, just near his lovely, hard erection, completely disregarded until now. "After all, we've got this to take care of."

It was Geral'ts turn to choke, though he managed a better job of it than Jaskier had. He put his glass down where it could do no further harm. He coughed lightly. "I'm open to suggestions."

"Well... Let me just get..." Jaskier turned to the nightstand at his side of the bed, where he'd placed his glass. He rifled quickly through the drawers and pulled out a vial similar to the one he'd shown Geralt earlier.

"Another potion?"

Jaskier scoffed. "Witcher, surely you know what olive oil looks like?" He uncorked the tube using his teeth and drizzled some of the contents onto his fingers. "Out of curiosity, how many of your oils are body safe? For humans, I mean."

"About three. Probably."

"Remind me to ask about that again later." The troubadour slid his clean hand up to press at Geralt's chest. "Now, lean back and let me take care of you."

Then, with a slick hand, Jaskier grasped the witcher's cock and twisted, his grip light, teasing, but the friction after no prior attention was overwhelming. Geralt groaned, his hips pressing up into the bard's practiced hand.

"Now, now, show me some of that prized witcher's stamina I've heard so much about."

Geralt blinked, trying to focus. "From who?"

"Never you mind." The troubadour flashed him an easy smile and leaned forward for a kiss. As he held Geralt's lips captive, he shifted his weight, climbing up to straddle the witcher's waist. Then he broke away and leaned back, bottle of oil still in hand. "Now since you started the job, you pick. Do you want to prep or shall I?"

"I'd like to see what else your fingers can do."

"Suit yourself." Jaskier shrugged, pouring more oil onto his hand and warming it for his own comfort. With one hand supporting his weight, he leaned back, making sure Geralt had a good view. "Eyes on me, witcher." He winked, no doubt finding the notion more charming than Geralt did. "I wouldn't want you to miss the show."

Geralt rolled his eyes, but caught himself falling for the bard all over again nonetheless. "Must everything be a performance with you?"

"Naturally." Jaskier lowered his hand between his legs, smearing oil on his skin. "Especially when I have such a, ah, captive audience." He ran his fingers over his red, puffy hole, already worked over by Geralt's lovely tongue.

Geralt's gaze flickered between Jaskier's face and his hand, wishing that he could watch both at once. Two fingers sunk in together, spreading the bard open each time he scissored them apart, stretching the tender muscle the witcher had just moments ago been eating out like a man who'd been starved for days.

"You know," said Jaskier, talkative as ever, even with his own fingers in his ass. "I'd like to, ooh, to do this to you some time."

"Really?" Geralt prompted, eager to hear more of that sultry, velvet voice.

Sometimes, particularly on dangerous roads, Geralt preferred it if Jaskier would stay quiet. More often, he enjoyed his rambling, his singing, and in general, his company. The constant chatter made him incredibly easy to locate at any given moment, and it put the witcher at ease. But now, hearing him trying to talk even around his own moans, Geralt thought the bard had never sounded better. That was why, even as Jaskier struggled to hold a conversation like this, Geralt was happy to humor him.

"Have you ever..." Jaskier asked, finding it difficult to articulate his meaning. "With anyone?" To demonstrate what he meant as words failed him for once, Jaskier added a third finger and pushed it in, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing slowly.

Geralt was happy to watch, the sight before him more than he'd ever imagined on his own. "A few times," he admitted honestly. "They weren't very good, to tell you the truth."

"That's, oh, fuck, oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Jaskier continued, pressing forward with the conversation as readily as he pressed his fingers inside himself. "I'd be sure to, ooh, to treat you better." His eyes flickered shut again, focused as he was on trying to multitask.

Geralt lovingly stroked the poet's thighs. "As well as you're treating yourself, I'd hope."

"Even better," Jaskier ground out. "I'd... I'd treat you right. Make you feel.... Oh, good... Ah." He winced, paused, then carefully reduced the number of fingers back down to two. "I'd take it slow... Make sure not to hurt you."

Geralt scoffed. The very notion that Jaskier could harm _anyone_ , let alone a witcher, was ridiculous. "I don't think you could do that if you tried."

Jaskier's eyes snapped open, and he paused what he was doing entirely, sex momentarily forgotten in favor of conversation. The bard's two favorite pastimes were often at odds with one another. "No, witcher. I could. Listen to me," Jaskier's breathy voice now held a commanding quality he usually only reserved for impressing militia, or when he wanted to control a rowdy audience. It had certainly caught Geralt's attention. "I don't care what your mutations did to you, if you were to push too hard or too fast, it could seriously hurt." Jaskier sighed, dropping his sternness as easily as it had come. "I'm speaking from experience."

His piece said, Jaskier quietly went back to what he'd been doing, easing a third finger back in.

Once again, Geralt was reminded of how readily Jaskier could adopt a role when he needed, as much an actor as he was a singer. He didn't push the subject further, and neither did Jaskier. However the tone they'd set had been altered severely all the same.

Jaskier drew his fingers out then, moving them stickily apart and back together obscenely. Trying to get things back on track, he asked, "Are you sure you'd still rather watch?"

Geralt's hands slid up Jaskier's waist and dragged him forward for a tender, slow kiss, hoping to express how much admiration and adoration he felt at being given such a show. The bard always deserved applause after every performance. Biting at kiss-swollen lips, he growled, "I think I'd like to participate now."

With a genuinely appreciative smile, Jaskier passed Geralt the vial of oil.

The witcher drizzled the remaining contents over his fingers, marveling at the texture and how it would feel on his cock. He cupped Jaskier's supple ass in his hands, spreading him easily before pushing a finger inside. There was practically no resistance, and Jaskier gasped lightly against the witcher's chest. In and out he worked it, mesmerized as he watched the digit disappear into his body, just as they'd done with his mouth. It was incredibly erotic, and he could stay there and be content to do just this, working Jaskier open all night, his own arousal be damned.

The bard chuckled, interrupting the witcher's thoughtful reverie. "I know what I said, Geralt, about moving slowly," he said. "But you can move a little faster than that."

Looking like he'd been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar - or elsewhere, as the case may be - Geralt did as was told and picked up the pace with a second finger. "Better?" he asked, scissoring his fingers apart.

"Muuuuch better," groaned Jaskier, leaning heavily against Geralt.

Now with both his hands free, Jaskier let them roam over Geralt's body, fingertips tracing scarred muscle. He knew the story behind almost every one, and took pride in that knowledge. To be the one who knew the witcher, _his_ witcher, so well, it was overwhelming. Jaskier exhaled a shaky breath, pushing back against thick, probing fingers.

"You're gorgeous, you know. Ooh, Geralt, have I told you how gorgeous you are?" he said breathlessly. He pressed a kiss to Geralt's temple, one hand on the witcher's shoulder for support. His other was, naturally, exploring other areas. Jaskier squeezed at Geralt's pecs and marveled at how soft and yielding he found them to be. Then he filed that information away for later use. He continued to rhapsodize. "Oh, I could- could fill volumes about your muscles alone." He'd definitely already dedicated a few poems to Geralt's perfectly sculpted abs.

"You haven't told me, no." Geralt was distracted, once again losing himself in the act, his gaze dancing between his fingers and the bard's expression. Jaskier was definitely enjoying this more, with someone else inside him. His cock had filled out again, with an erection to match Geralt's. It was still slightly tacky with cum from before, and, with the hand that was not occupied, Geralt teased a light stroke, entirely too aroused by the crude texture.

Jaskier gasped sharply in his ear, and hastily batted the witcher's hand away. "It pains me _so much_ to say this," he said, already mourning the loss of friction, "But if you do that I will cum right here on your fingers."

"That wouldn't be too bad," teased Geralt. "I could just work you up again."

"Ooh, gods, I was right, you _are_ trying to kill me," groaned the bard. "One more, oh, another one, Geralt, and then we can..." Geralt slipped a third finger inside and Jaskier nearly doubled over trying to press back onto them. "How, _how_ do your fingers feel so much better than mine?"

Geralt smiled, pleased with himself. "Tingles, huh?" he said. "One of the few perks of being a witcher. Didn't you ever notice?"

"I- I will- I.... Oh-" Jaskier's poorly formed retort was cut short when Geralt curled his fingers and for a moment every word in every language blanked from Jaskier's mind. Well, all except for the ever reliable, "Fuck!"

Geralt pressed a kiss to the bard's hair, pleased that once again, he'd whittled him down to simple monosyllables. "Are you ready to be fucked now?" he asked, kissing over his face even as he still moved his fingers.

Jaskier writhed against him, all attempts at conversation completely abandoned. Now begging seemed to suit him more. "Oh, oh, yes, please. I am, please."

"Please what?" Geralt couldn't help himself. It was just too easy to rile Jaskier, get him all worked up to breaking. "What do you want?"

"Oh, Geralt, don't tease me."

But Geralt did exactly that, and hooked his fingers up again to press against the poet's prostate.

"Ohhh okay, please!" shouted Jaskier, chasing the pressure even as Geralt took it away. "Please fuck me with your cock, Geralt, oh, please."

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" Then Geralt drew his fingers out, and Jaskier sorely missed how good they'd felt. But he knew that this would feel better.

"What position?" asked Jaskier breathlessly, and the question caught Geralt completely off guard. It was such a foreign concept for Geralt, to not leave everything down to mysterious guesswork during sex. He'd definitely never been asked that preference before. Everyone he'd ever been with had chosen how to take or give, arranging themselves just how they wanted. Now, faced with a choice, Geralt wasn't sure. Perhaps sometimes, he took Jaskier's talkativeness for granted. It was definitely a boon to have in bed.

"I just want to see you," he said finally. Honestly. It made Jaskier's heart swell.

"Oh, well in that case... We can start like this." The poet remained straddling Geralt's lap, but slid back to line up more neatly with his cock. "And then, if you like, you can push me down."

Geralt let his hands come to rest at Jaskier's hips, all too familiar with this particular position. Coincidentally, it happened to be one of his favorites, and after devoting so much attention to the troubadour, he was eager to have some for himself.

A hand on Geralt's shoulder for balance, Jaskier lifted himself up onto his knees. The bard leaned back to grasp Geralt's dick, earning himself a sharp gasp from the witcher. "I've neglected you too much," he said, and Geralt didn't know if he meant himself or the dick. "Allow me to show my appreciation for your patience."

Without further ado, Jaskier lowered himself down, pressing back until the tip of Geralt's cock was snugly inside. It slid in perfectly. Geralt groaned at how unbelievably tight he was. He'd have thought, with how much they'd worked him over, it surely couldn't be. But then this was Jaskier, and the troubadour had nearly two decades of experience under his belt - in every sense.

As promised, the bard worked his magic just as well as any sorceress on the continent.

He rocked his hips slowly as he went, shaky breaths escaping his lips with every inch he took. "You're so big," Jaskier said, predictably, but Geralt never got tired of hearing it. "I loved having it in my mouth and now..." It seemed nothing would deter the bard from talking. But that was fine with Geralt. It was just as entertaining with his cock filling him up as it had been with his fingers.

"Now what?" prompted Geralt, eager to hear more.

Jaskier shuddered, and his whole body shook when he sat fully seated, down to the hilt. Then Jaskier _giggled_ , exhilaration filling him just as much as the witcher's cock, and Geralt knew he'd regret what was about to come out of the bard's mouth.

" _I thought witchers had two swords, but it seems they have three,_ " Jaskier laughed as he singsonged, nearly having a fit. " _One of silver, one of steel, and one of flesh, for m-_ "

"Oh, forget it," Geralt groaned through gritted teeth. He was infinitely glad he was physically incapable of blushing. "Would you stop making rhymes about my dick and start moving?" 

The witcher thrust up into the bard, and Jaskier's laughter quickly faded into moans, though his grin remained bright on his face. Beaming like that, he truly embodied his chosen namesake. The smile didn't last and quickly, it too dissolved into a different expression of pleasure.

Jaskier picked up the slow pace, lifting his hips and falling back down, eliciting harsh groans from both of them. "Your cock really is, ooh, very lovely," Jaskier said, loving his own voice too much to be quiet for long. "It tru- truuuly feels amazing."

Geralt slid his hands higher on Jaskier's waist, finding the perfect handholds to be Jaskier's love handles. "Want to feel it more?" said the witcher, rolling his hips in time with the undulations of Jaskier's hips.

"Oh, yes please," moaned the bard.

Geralt grasped Jaskier's hips, and at the next thrust, used the momentum to heartily bounce the bard on his dick.

Jaskier yelped at the jerking motion, the pace he'd set himself now seemed tortuously slow compared to the brutal tempo the witcher was setting. 

"Fuck," spat Geralt,

"Oh, fuck" agreed Jaskier, his quivering legs threatening to give out, with only the sheer force of will keeping him upright. Mercifully, or perhaps not, Geralt pushed him down and with the impetus gained, buried himself deeper inside.

Then Jaskier cried out, his face a grimace of pain, and reacting automatically, instinctively, protectively, Geralt pulled out.

The poet practically sobbed at the loss.

"No! Please, no, don't _stop_ , for fuck's sake," he pleaded, using his legs to putt Geralt back in. "I'm fine, I promise, please don't stop."

Geralt hesitated. Jaskier had a track record for recklessness, especially involving sex. "Honest?"

This time tears did form, and Jaskier dragged a hand down his face, terribly frustrated. He regretted now that he'd chided Geralt on the safeties of proper preparation. He should have known the witcher would be a mother hen about it. "Yes, yes! Honest to all the bloody gods across the Northern Kingdoms!" wailed Jaskier, "Now fuck me, please, _please_. I am _aching_ for you to fill me."

Geralt almost gave in then. He was exercising every bit of self control he possessed to keep from going on. But he couldn't. He had to be sure. He thought back to Jaskier's earlier words. Pushing too hard, too fast. More than anything, the witcher was afraid of hurting someone he considered so dear. "Jaskier," he said, grinding out the words. "I just want to make sure I didn't hurt you."

Jaskier begged all the gods he knew to grant him the patience to deal with such a caring, enormously idiotic witcher. With a sigh, he reached up and pushed strands of white aside, tucking it behind Geralt's ear to get a better look at his face. The witcher's features were monstrous to any who didn't know him well, but to Jaskier, who knew him better than anyone... He was beautiful.

"Oh, Geralt, you stupid, _absolutely stupid_ , lovely man," he sighed, exasperated. "I don't think you could do that if you tried." He'd chosen his words to match those Geralt had used before in jest. Though this time, when Jaskier used them, he meant every word. "Now put your cock back in me or I swear I will never speak to you again. Or at least for a week. A day."

Overcome with relief, his own patience worn down, Geralt leaned down and kissed Jaskier. Confidence renewed and his worries soothed, the witcher pushed back inside in earnest, wholly prepared to use his full strength fuck the troubadour within an inch of his life. He swallowed down the moan the bard made, and then devoured every other noise after that. Their breaths mingled, both voices filling the room

Jaskier's hand found it's way to Geralt's, entwining their fingers and clinging desperately, trying to hold on just that much longer. Geralt brought Jaskier's hand to his lips and kissed it, trying to channel all the adoration he felt for the poet into the gesture. It was rather difficult when half his efforts were already being channeled through each thrust of his hips. He groaned against the soft, unblemished skin, striking forward again and again into that tight heat. It was all Jaskier could do to hold on as Geralt fucked him with every bit of force his witcher strength and stamina granted him.

"Touch me," gasped Jaskier, and Geralt automatically obeyed, earning him another delicious moan.

"Jaskier, cum for me," Geralt demanded, "Fuck, I'm so close."

A husky, low groan escaped Jaskier's lips, "Oh, gods, I'm t-. Oh, but I _love_ your cock, Geralt. No, you. Yes, I love _you_." 

"Fuck, Jaskier," Geralt growled out the name, like it was the only thing he knew, like the very bard below him was the only thing in this world to him. And just then, like this, it was.

"I love you," repeated Jaskier, hovering dangerously over the brink, his declarations of love holding him there. "I love you, Geralt, ssso, _so_ much, I lo-love you, l-love, I.." His grip on Geralt's hand tightened and he rolled his hips up into Geralt's palm.

"I love you, too."

It was enough to push Jaskier over the edge. With a final shout of the witcher's name, he came, his lovely tenor voice hoarse and gravelly, and fleetingly, Geralt thought he'd never sung so beautifully in his life. Then all thoughts flooded out of Geralt's head as pleasure rushed in, his orgasm taking him but a few shallow, uneven thrusts later. The bard's name was ripped from his throat, loudly spat like a curse to the floor where it reverberated heavily around the room.

Then they both collapsed, equally exhausted and panting like they'd been chasing after more than just their mutual release.

Geralt grunted, processing only well enough to register his own weight against the body beneath him. Though his limbs felt like jelly, he tried to move.

"No, wait," Jaskier caught his arm, stopping him from rolling away. "Don't. Please."

Geralt's chest tightened at those words and how desperate the poet had sounded in them. He wondered if having so many lovers had caused Jaskier to come to expect everyone to leave, or if one too many people leaving had caused him to give up hope on any sense of permanence. Perhaps the latter had caused the former.

And a large part of him hated that, for Jaskier, the witcher was one of those people that kept leaving all too often.

"Don't worry, Jaskier," said Geralt, staying where he was. "I'm not leaving. Just didn't want to crush you."

Jaskier breathed a heavy sigh of relief, then in a practiced moment, he covered it up again, his smile brave, and almost sad. "I know that," he said, bouncing quickly back. "Of course, that's not what I meant." Instead of letting go, the troubadour pulled the witcher back to him and led him to lay on his chest. It was the reverse of the position Geralt would have expected.

Geralt, feeling awkwardly large, carefully asked, "Aren't I heavy?"

"Not at all." Jaskier hummed, now so relaxed he seemed to be melting into the bed. "I rather like the weight. It's comforting."

So both of them finally settled, enjoying the afterglow, and each other's company.

At first the position was unfamiliar to Geralt, as many things that night had been. Usually, he was in the opposite arrangement, holding a lover to his chest instead of being held. After a few moments, however, he realized just how nice it was to be on the other side of things. He felt warm and, despite the bard's inability to even protect himself at the best of times, oddly safe. It was comforting to have someone hold him, to have arms wrapped around him, protective and determined to shield him from anything. Or at least that what Geralt imagined he did when _he_ was in Jaskier's position. Perhaps that's what the poet felt as well.

"Well," started Jaskier, never one to dwell too long in silence. "That was quite the ride. Certainly plenty of ups and downs, wouldn't you agree? I suppose I've had worse first times before..."

Geralt groaned and shifted where he lay. He'd have to get up and clean them off eventually, but this was just so damned comfortable. No wonder his lovers enjoyed laying on him so much. "I really will leave, if you're going to complain," he said, in spite of himself.

"Who's complaining? Undulations are what make life interesting," asked Jaskier dismissively. "You were _wonderful_ , my dear wolf."

"'My dear wolf'? What the hell is that?"

"You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that..." In truth, Geralt loved the nickname, but he'd never admit it. Fortunately, he didn't have to.

"Good," said Jaskier gently stroking Geralt's hair, playing loosely with the strands. "Because I'm going to use it in a ballad. About you. And how wonderful you are."

"Whatever you say," sighed Geralt, pressing his head against Jaskier's chest. He was fascinated by how quickly his heart beat. So quick and fleeting, his life. So fragile. The witcher's heart, slow in its beating, ached just to think about it, and everything else he'd gleaned that evening. It seemed there was a lot he didn't know of Jaskier's past, and he felt ashamed that he'd never once asked. He idly wondered if Jaskier would have even told him if he had. Suddenly, it was somehow unfair that Jaskier knew everything there was to know about the witcher, quite literally wrote the book, and yet Geralt could not even say the same for his dearest friend, and now - with any luck - his lover.

And then there was the nagging, undeniable fact that Jaskier was mortal. Nothing could change that. Still, it was because of this that Jaskier lived so fully. Geralt wanted to help, wanted to give him everything he wanted, as much as he deserved. He was so _different_ from Yen, who wanted the world, wanted to take and take and take more than Geralt could ever hope to give, though damn but did he try. She'd never be content in her cravings, and Geralt knew it. That was why, if given the chance, Geralt would gladly offer up all that he had if it meant that one of his loves, at least, could be happy.

Jaskier drew Geralt out of his glum thoughts, just as he always did, with a friendly word and a hint of humor. "My dear wolf," he said, hoping the pet name would catch on quickly. "We have just had the most amazing sex and here you are, brooding. What in all the realms could you possibly be thinking that would spoil such a fine mood?"

"I just..." Geralt hesitated, almost afraid of saying it aloud, lest his wish become yet another inescapably disastrous destiny. "I just want you to be happy, Jaskier."

Jaskier looked curiously at Geralt, like what he'd said was most peculiar. And then he laughed, the sound of it scattering the darkness that had begun to fill the witcher's mind, much like the sun chased the shadows of dawn away, only ever to return in its absence. There was plenty of life in the poet yet, Geralt saw, plenty of joy and beauty and love there already. That rapid heart beat Geralt had heard was evidence of that. And maybe, Geralt believed, just maybe, he could provide Jaskier with happiness, too.

"Don't be foolish, Geralt," the poet said finally, pressing a gentle kiss to the witcher's white locks. "I have you with me, don't I? For now, I think, that's enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this started out as just a simple glory hole blow job how did it escalate into this 10 thousand word nsfw emotional comedy piece im
> 
> this fic is dedicated to jaskier's 2 favorite things: talking and sex. yaay.


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